


Take My Breath Away

by williamastankova



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Boys Kissing, Denial, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Frustration, Gay Billy Hargrove, Homophobic Language, Hurt Billy Hargrove, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Make Love Not War, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prom, Regret, Rough Kissing, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Prom sucks. It's a fact Billy has already acknowledged and accepted, but why does the universe insist on making it so much worse? Why has he made eye contact with Steve in a crowded room, full of so very many other people? And why, oh why, does the boy insist on following him out when he goes for a smoke?(would recommend listening to the song under the same name by Berlin whilst you read this (and just generally) as this fic was heavily influenced by it. up to you though!)





	Take My Breath Away

Prom. It's the last place Billy thought he'd be tonight, considering he'd rather be anywhere - literally anywhere - else. He'd actually rather be sat, bored to all, hell at home, because the slow beat of the song and watching everybody around him dancing awkwardly is making him want to vomit where he stands. And, on top of it all, he's not even allowed to smoke, which usually helps him manage his fun metre. Overall, and to put it plainly, it just sucks.

Worst of all, he's alone. Not that he _wants_  to stand with some lame girl all night, the last one left in the pile because nobody else wanted her. The one with braces and sweat-ridden hair, that's never clean no matter how many times she showers. This hypothetical girl would, however, help at the current moment, because he's just accidentally locked eyes with Steve Harrington from across the room, and _dear Lord_  the boy isn't looking away from him.

He'd rather be at home with Neil right now. He'd rather be hungover and being sick everywhere, because the nauseous feeling that watching Steve slow-dance with Robin is giving him in his stomach is worse than anything else life could throw at him. Short-haired Robin, who's actually pretty, which is very possibly the worst part of it all; he can't even make fun of her. Steve's got his arms around her waist, and they meld together like they belong there. Like there's nobody else he could ever be with, like no one else matters.

Billy could almost forget about Nancy. He can see her vaguely in the corner of his eye, dancing with the Byers kid to 'Take My Breath Away' (he can finally remember the name of the song, now that he's had a few minutes in his own head), but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about her, he doesn't care about Steve, not Robin nor this stupid dance; he doesn't care about any of it, just like he shouldn't care about Steve.

He feels childish when he scoffs, breaking Steve's gaze, snapping in two and leaving it on the dance floor, somewhere between the two of them. He pushes his way past two couples on his way outside, and it doesn't take even a whole second for him to light up a cigarette and put it to his lips, ready to take a puff of it. God, he's needed this.

He can still hear the music inside, pounding in his head, taunting him. The tranquil, feminine song calls him queer, tells him he doesn't have a hope in hell with anybody, let alone Steve. He's meant to be alone, to end up like his dad, to hide himself - his true self - from everybody and anybody he meets. He's messed up, God alone knows that, but it's more than that. Steve... Steve's special. Not just to him, but to everyone: Steve's smile, his laugh, his hair (Lord, that mane is something even Billy envies) are things of true beauty, and everybody knows it.

Billy feels like an idiot. He's never been especially fond of himself, but now - when he's got time alone, when he's stuck with himself, isolated - he can see it as clear as day. He's a lovesick fool, who frankly needs to get over himself. He should do what every other gay guy does and settle down with some average woman and live an average life, have a few average kids until you can't stand to even look at your wife, let alone force any sort of attraction to her. Then maybe, if you're lucky, get a quicky, average divorce and live the rest of your life as a recluse, spending the rest of your days isolated.

People like Billy just didn't get people like Steve. People like Billy didn't get anybody - didn't deserve anybody. Billy was like his dad, as much as he hated to acknowledge it usually, because he was vile and violent and would end up as an abusive drunk, and that was just the cycle to perpetuate. That was his role on this earth and, unless somebody or he himself took him out beforehand, that was exactly what he was going to do.

He sighed. Feeling sorry for himself _again_? Really? Hadn't he grown out of that by now?

The cigarette grows shorter each time he takes a puff of it. He feels the smoke fill his lungs, holds it there til it starts to hurt and he feels lightheaded, and only when he's about to pass out does he let it go, sending it burning out of his nostrils. He knows it's working perhaps a little too well when his lungs begin to feel as though they're alight. Repeat, repeat.

He can hear the song slowly dying out inside, and then there's the noise of the door swinging open. He presumes it's a teacher coming out to either scold him for smoking, or join him where he stands with his foot up on the smokers wall. He just hopes they're not in a chatty mood; he's not feeling very sociable at the moment.

His head rests against the wall, his eyes tightly closed. He doesn't care if he ruins his previously meticulously styled hair, because who's it for anyway? His ears are perked, interested even if his mind isn't, and he notices that whoever came out hasn't moved. Feeling watched, he decides to check it out, and peeks through one of his eyes. He's surprised by the sight he finds.

Before him stands Steve. He's not looking at him judgmentally, but he is looking right at him. He looks intrigued, like Billy is something to be marvelled at, like a miracle of nature. Billy suddenly feels bared, naked, and squirms where he stands. The hand holding his cigarette drops from his lips, but he doesn't stub out the flame.

"What're you looking at, Harrington?" He calls him by his surname, because it helps him to remain impersonal, so Steve can't tell how he's really feeling. It's just better that way. "Don't you have a date to attend to?"

"Robin?" Steve shakes his head at him, then moves to stand beside him, leaning his back against the wall, ignoring every indication that Billy most definitely doesn't want him to do that. "She's not my date."

"Sure looks like it," Billy scoffs, desperately hoping it masks his devastated tone, or at the least detracts Steve's attention from how utterly dismal he sounds.

When Steve looks up at the sky, he has the perfect opportunity to assess the man. He's got a pretty basic suit on, a baby blue tux with a ridiculous dickie bow around his neck. His hair has been brushed and curled and straightened and had just about everything done, so it looks perfect. He knows Steve probably isn't wearing makeup, but the clearness of his skin and unusual brightness of his eyes is so striking, he doesn't rule it out entirely as a possibility.

It's when Steve suddenly looks over at him that he panics, and stops admiring him so openly. He prays Steve's mind doesn't go exactly where Billy's was, but he can't quite tell when he's not looking at the boy. He opts instead to take another drag of the cigarette, staring up at the night sky and its dancing stars, and curses when he realises how short the fag has become. He drops it to the floor and stomps it out.

"You want one?" He offers to Steve, who declines. "Your loss, pussy boy."

This is how they always are with each other. Billy's put up a sort of wall to protect himself from Steve - not to defend from how to boy might hurt him, but from how he'd soften him. Billy doesn't lead a lifestyle that lets him be soft, between Neil's punches (literal and figurative) and his friends always being on his ass about things. He can't afford to lose his hard outer shell to whatever inane things Steve might make him feel. It's not worth it, or at least that's what he tells himself.

"Hey," Steve calls to him just as he's thinking about heading back inside, "How come you're alone tonight?"

"Oh, shoot me down in flames, Harrington," he attempts humour, "Can't a guy go to prom alone without being hanged and declared a witch?"

This makes Steve smile a little, the history nerd he is. "Sure. I just mean you... I didn't think you'd come alone."

Billy doesn't miss how Steve alters his phrasing, though he's not sure exactly how to analyse it. He watches the man's features shift, like he's afraid of something (probably Billy, now he thinks about it, because they only ever talk when they fight). Billy dares not move any closer, but he lets himself look more openly at Steve where they stand, across from each other, Billy's back pressed against the cold, brick wall of the school. They almost look friendly.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna come at all, so I guess it's an improvement," he bows his head sheepishly, inspecting the floor as he asks his question. "So who's Robin, then, if she's not your date?"

"She's my co-worker," Steve audibly sighs, "Nothing romantic going on."

"Co-worker, huh?" Billy flashes Steve his toothy, suggestive grin and looks back up at him, "Sounds kinky."

Steve gives him the single most impressive bitch-face he's ever seen, and he begins to feel somewhat guilty. Steve shakes his head at him and says, "Can you ever take things seriously, Billy?"

"I'll have you know I take plenty of things seriously," he states matter-of-factly, "You've just never cared enough to get to know me well enough to find that out. Steven, honestly, didn't your mother ever tell you to not judge a book by its cover?"

"My name's not Steven," is the only remark Steve makes about that whole scenario, and Billy can't blame him. Any other point to pick up on would be far too heavy, far too emotional, and he isn't ready to unload his baggage onto anybody yet, not even Steve - especially not him. He watches as Steve eyes him conspicuously for a second too long, then drops his gaze to the floor.

He leans back, joining Billy on the wall even though he's not smoking. Usually it's reserved for smokers, but Billy's hardly going to be the pedantic asshole that points that out. He instead fumbles about in his pockets, twirling another cigarette in his fingers but not pulling it out to light it. He's suddenly feeling nervous, like anything he thinks of doing would be a bad idea and would end him in deeper shit than he already feels like he's in. Hell, he's barely had anything to drink and he's already talking about feelings. What was happening to him?

Loneliness, it seemed, was the greatest motivator of all. This was why, he assumed, he couldn't take his eyes off of the boy beside him, who apparently was much more interested in anything else but him. A flicker of annoyance lit up inside of him as he watched Steve look literally everywhere else that wasn't him, and then he began to wonder if he really was that bad. Inside, sure, but he'd always been fairly confident in his outward looks. Something about this thought enraged the juvenile part of him, that also apparently controlled his mouth, void of any connection with his brain.

"Hey, Harrington," he called out rather abruptly, hoping to catch the other man off his guard. Judging by the way Steve's eyes widened as he looked up at him, watching for any sign of what he was about to do, he'd say he managed to succeed.

Even as he pushed off of the wall, Billy himself didn't know what his true intention was. He knew, on an instinctive level, that he was either going to punch Steve or kiss him, and either way he knew he would regret doing it. Even still, fuelled by his fear of Steve leaving prematurely, their conversation dying and Steve going back inside, back to the arms of the sickening Robin, he knew he had to do _something_.

This something, he found out as soon as Steve did, was to grasp at Steve's jaw with one hand and dip in quickly to kiss him. The action, with its speed and the severe lack of communication beforehand, could be considered rude. Not quite _crude_ , mind, because despite the initial fervour of the kiss, as it continued the passion seemed to drain out from it, and it became unbearably sad. Depressing, even, and as he had predicted Billy regretted ever having done it in the first place. Why had he deemed this a good idea?

He's surprised, initially, that Steve even lets him get close enough to do such a heinous thing. It feels criminal, how he suddenly invades Steve's space and claims his mouth, how he attacks his lips and clashes their teeth together accidentally. Then, he's surprised by how long the kiss manages to last for. A good three seconds in, he's sure he's going to get pushed off, maybe even smacked around a couple of times, but that doesn't happen. Five seconds in, he's feeling light-headed, elated, and then ten seconds in he's starting to believe he's trapped in a dream. After that, he loses count.

The most shocking thing, however, is the way Steve finally gives in, and he can _feel_  it. The resignation is tangible, something Billy can almost taste, then Steve's opening up his mouth, surrendering himself to Billy, dragging him in with an arm wrapped strategically around the other man's neck. It feels glorious, albeit confusing, and Billy's not willing to argue in that moment. Maybe later, he promises himself, though knowing it's a lie.

He kisses into Steve like he's trying to destroy him, and perhaps he is. After all, there's just no way he's trying to do the opposite, to show Steve how much he cares, to apologise for everything, to try to pay him back for all of the hurt he's caused the boy. That's impossible, because that doesn't happen in Billy's life. People don't say sorry, people only keep on hurting, keep destroying, keep taking, and so does he.

On the other hand, he does have to notice that he's not the one that brings them closer. Sure, once granted entrance and gateway to do so, he crowds closer to Steve, as close as they can get, as though attempting to have them mould into one person, but that's only _after_  Steve makes a little demanding sound, and tugs him in closer with fingers planted in his hair. Billy feels weak, at the whim of Steve's every want, and what's worse is he's willing to hand himself over so readily.

He should feel a fool, the way he comes undone beneath Steve's touch. Every brief brush of their exposed skin, even if it's just their wrists, feels like electricity. Every single one of his hairs is standing on end, and he knows it's not because of the cold. He also knows for a fact he should be pulling away by now, saying something taunting to Steve, mocking the way he's let Billy defile and dishevel him, but he doesn't. He goes against every code he's ever had when he keeps curling into Steve, keeps letting him know how much he wants him, tells him in his kisses and sweet caresses, in the way he touches his jaw.

In his mind, he can't be quite sure how much time has passed when they finally part. He can't even tell who's the first to pull back, but he knows he's a goner when he opens up his eyes to watch Steve's own flutter open, looking up at him like he's the world. He hates it, but he can't look away. He can feel the peculiar wetness of his lips, can see the same in Steve's when he casts his gaze down, but neither of them speak about it.

There's still the pool of want in his stomach. He feels how much he wants Steve, but he cuts himself off there. Like an addict going cold-turkey, he knows he has to stop himself now, else he might go too far and end up getting himself killed. He doesn't let himself look at Steve any longer, only pulls himself back from the man and stalks off, slipping back into the dance, hearing the noisy door fall shut promptly after him.

Back in the hall, he casts his eyes around, but he can't see anything. He doesn't register a single face, can't see anywhere he wants to go or anyone he wants to speak to, but he loses himself in the crowd regardless. He can't risk having Steve follow him in and them bumping straight into each other without a chase; Billy wants to maximise any chance he has of losing the boy.

Even so, even though this is the truest thing he's told himself all night, when he finally finds a secluded corner somewhere, he can't stop his finger from shooting up to touch his lips. They feel sensitive, freshly-kissed (for obvious reasons). It's like the universe or whatever higher power there is or isn't doesn't want him to forget, as much as he wants to. He briefly wonders if it means anything, if there's some larger force at play here. He despises himself when he spends the majority of the remainder of his time staring at the door, waiting for Steve to come back in.

He doesn't reappear, not even for a second, and in this way Billy gets his answer.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> please leave any thoughts you have or any ideas for future fics/additional chapters to this in the comments! I'd love to read & respond to them :)


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